


take me back to the start

by Alienu



Series: nothing lasts forever [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Betrayal, Bunkers, Dictatorship, Execution, Friendship, Gen, Grief, Hurt No Comfort, Magic, Moving On, Murder, No Romance, Not Dialogue Dependent, SO SORRY, Supernatural Elements, Swearing, Time Travel, Violence, War, based off of streams, dream is a dreamon, im sorry, oh well, only angst, this is probably bad but, tyranny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienu/pseuds/Alienu
Summary: "Tommy Innit!" The voice of their president rings out across the people below, "You have been caught trespassing in the nation of Manberg, despite being exiled." Schlatt peers at him from the corner of his eye, tightening his hold on Tubbo's shoulder. "What's the punishment for breaking the laws of Manberg, Tubbo?"He casts a helpless glance at Dream, "Ex...execution?"Or; Tommy gets captured by Schlatt. The consequences are fatal.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: nothing lasts forever [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962868
Comments: 128
Kudos: 891
Collections: Completed stories I've read, Lemon's Time Travel fic Bin





	1. Tubbo

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry im so sorry
> 
> please write more tubbo centric fics AO3 community i beg you

“Tommy Innit!” The voice of their president rings out across the people below. The podium is dark, lit only by the dying light of torches. The audience stands underneath, dead silent in anticipation. Next to him, Schlatt grins. Tubbo tries not to flinch away from the heavy hand that lands on his shoulder as their— _Manberg’s,_ as it was now called—president continues. His voice is oddly relaxed, a sinister sort of triumph snaking into every word that leaves his mouth. “You have been caught trespassing in the nation of Manberg, despite being exiled.”

Tubbo makes the mistake of looking down, meeting Niki’s vicious glare. He tenses, eyes darting away automatically. She is furious with him. He doesn’t blame her. He could’ve done something, after all. If he had been just a little more sneaky—if he had just been quicker this all could’ve been avoided. And yet he had failed, as always, but this time the consequence is fatal. Eret is standing next to her, one hand resting on her shoulder for comfort. His crown, always so bright and shiny, looks dull now, like it is made of fool’s gold. His lips are pressed into a flat line, and Tubbo thinks that if the sunglasses were to be removed he would see tears threatening to spill over. Tubbo understands, he’s always understood that somewhere Eret still cared for L’manberg. Despite his betrayal, despite everything—he still cares about them. Tommy and Wilbur may never have forgiven him, but Tubbo had never been one to hold grudges.

Schlatt is an entirely different story.

He sees Fundy standing between Ponk and Punz. His expression is emotionless, a stone cold mask of indifference that many of them had learned to wear ever since the election. And yet despite the indifferent appearance, the fox’s ears are tucked flat against his skull. He doesn’t want this either. Jack Manifold, having realized his mistake in supporting Schlatt’s reign, has neglected to show up at all.

Off to the side, standing in the shadows, Tubbo can faintly catch the outline of Dream’s mask. Sapnap is beside him, their netherite swords glowing through the dark as they watch grimly. A part of him wildly hopes that they will save Tommy, that they will slice their way through the crowd and free his best friend, but he knows it’s hopeless. Schlatt has George and Punz on his side, and with them being in support of his rule, the remaining members of the Dream SMP can do nothing but smuggle hidden supplies to the rebels. A blatant act of support in favor of the uprising would be fatal to them. He gets it, and yet he’s still angry at them for not doing more.

He realizes suddenly that Schlatt had continued to speak. The words had become a faint background noise, but the squeeze on his shoulder indicates that he wants something. Tubbo jolts to attention, “What?”

Schlatt peers at him from the corner of his eye. The ram horns on each side of his head make him look menacing as he tightens his hold on the Secretary of State’s shoulder, “What’s the punishment for breaking the laws of Manberg, Tubbo?” He repeats.

“Uh..” His throat is closing up. He knows what he needs to say, but it still isn’t any easier. He hesitates for a moment, casting a helpless glance at Dream, “Ex...Execution?”

“That’s right!” The president affirms far too cheerfully. Tubbo sees Niki visibly flinch, her blonde hair acting as a curtain around her face as she looks down. The grip on his shoulder loosens as Schlatt turns to face the outcast behind them. Tubbo, despite a part of him screaming not to, does the same. He sees Tommy’s dirty, mussed hair. The L’manberg uniform he wears is torn, ripped in many places, dirtied with mud and smeared with crimson. There’s a nasty slice on his cheek, streaks of dried blood smeared on his pale skin. Dark bags have formed under his eyes—he clearly hasn’t slept since he’d been captured. It’s not like they had given him the most comfortable prison cell either. “The price for breaking the rules,” Schlatt reiterates, “is execution.”

“You won’t get away with this!” Niki shouts. Angry tears are pricking at the corner of her eyes, threatening to run down her cheeks. The ram’s cheerful expression flattens into an intolerant one as he turns back.

“Hey uh, Niki, don’t you have those taxes to pay?” He asks cynically, his mouth curling into a sinister grin. The woman grits her teeth, probably about to shout obscenities at the Manberg president, when Eret tugs her back with a gentle shake of his head. She looks like she’s about to argue, but Eret murmurs something into her ear and she deflates, all her fire disappearing within that moment. Schlatt watches with a look of boredom, clearing his throat as soon as she steps down, “Anyway, lets get on with the show!”

_Show._ Tubbo’s stomach clenches in distaste. Of course. This was all some sort of game to Schlatt. He didn’t care for any of them at all. Power and putting down the rebellion are the only things on his mind, and the elimination of Tommy would put him one giant step closer to stomping out the sparks of resistance. How could the people have supported someone like this? He is a tyrant, a dictator. 

Something inside him whispers to him to look towards the hills. Tubbo was never one to disobey the voices within his head. He does, and has to keep the guilt from bubbling up his throat in the form of a sob when he sees Wilbur there, half hidden in the shade of a tree with Technoblade at his side. 

He’s wearing his hat. The L’manberg hat. He thought that Wilbur had lost it, but it stands proud on his head. It contrasts terribly with the brown coat he now wears, but it’s there nonetheless. Tubbo suddenly wishes desperately to go back to simpler times: before Schlatt, before Wilbur had conjured up the terrible idea of holding an election. Before, when it was just the six of them. Jack Manifold, Niki, Tubbo, Tommy, Wilbur, and Fundy. L’manberg. When everything was just about bunkers and fun—when no one was concerned about rebellions and betrayals. 

“Any last words, Tommy?” Schlatt’s voice rings loud in his ears, like a harsh wake up call that brings him back to reality. He turns to see Tommy. Standing on an elevated platform, his wrists bound tightly with ropes, he looks nothing like himself. Tommy, who had always been so loud and so boisterous, is now resigned. Defeated. Schlatt seems to relish in this. 

Standing beside Tommy is George. GeorgeNotFound, to be exact. Even he looks unsure, his eyes darting to and fro from behind the black lenses of his goggles. He stands at the lever, waiting for the order. 

Tommy lifts his head up slowly, his now dull blue eyes meeting Tubbo’s pained ones. They are so emotionless, so tired and so unlike _Tommy_ that Tubbo has to bite his lip to prevent a sound of guilt from escaping him. Orange light from the fire splashes onto his face, receding and contorting as the flames flicker. The blond’s gaze is indifferent—he’s already accepted his fate, but his words are quiet, so quiet that Tubbo has to strain to hear them over the crackling of the torches.

“Go fuck yourself.” He rasps.

Schlatt grins, “Maybe later.” He chirps, “Now if that is all, let’s proceed.” He turns to George, who glances at Quackity as if asking if he should really follow the orders. The vice president, like everyone else, seems scared.

“Hey uh, do you really think this is a good idea?” He asks. Schlatt raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his coworker. Quackity backs up, raising his hands in front of him as if to deny the fact that he was having doubts, “I-I mean, don’t you think execution is a bit harsh?” He stammers, “We could just fine him—or uh—fuck—he was the former vice president, so..I-I don’t really know about this..” He chuckles nervously, trailing off.

“Quackity,” Schlatt says calmly. Tubbo inwardly hopes that he will listen, that he will see the reason behind Quackity’s words, but he knows that this will not happen. “Look me in the eyes,” he says sweetly, the vice president does so hesitantly, “does it look like I care?” No one answers. He seems satisfied with that, “Exactly.” The president moves to nod towards George, “Proceed.”

Tommy looks at him one more time, his lips are moving, mouthing barely decipherable words under his breath. Tubbo recognizes it, their anthem. The L’manberg anthem—he can practically hear Wilbur singing it in his head now. He wills himself not to cry, not to show any emotion because he knows that if he does it will make Schlatt lose trust in him. For the rebellion’s sake, he can’t afford to lose the trust he has managed to obtain. George looks at Tubbo for a moment, giving him a small dip of his head as if to say ‘I’m sorry.’

He looks away as the lever is pulled, the platform drops, and the rope around Tommy’s neck is pulled tight. He’s silent as he suffocates even as the noose burns tight around his neck, unwilling to show any sign of pain to his enemies in the largest act of defiance that he can muster. Tubbo hears Niki gasp, and turns to see her with a hand over her mouth. Eret wraps an arm around her, and she begins to cry. Fundy looks away, his ears flat, while Punz watches boredly. Ponk’s eyes are soft, watching with the smallest hint of remorse. In the shadows, Dream bows his head. He sees Wilbur, his hat pressed to his chest, with his head tilted down, revealing his curly brown locks. 

The process is painfully slow. Tommy makes no noise, only the quiet chirping of crickets coupled with the roar of fire filling the air. Tubbo can’t bear to watch, spending a majority of the time staring blankly down at his feet. No one can do anything to speed up the process, to give the mercy that he deserves. They are helpless. And when it is finally over, when Schlatt gives the go ahead for George to cut the rope, Tommy’s unmoving body is carefully lowered to the floor.

Tubbo has a hard time believing it’s real. Tommy looks peaceful, as if he were just sleeping. It’s surreal, he thinks, as George puts a finger to the blond’s pulse and confirms his death. Bile rises in the Secretary of State’s throat, the urge to vomit growing as Schlatt grins victoriously at the crowd.

“Tommy’s dead, Wilbur!” He shouts, knowing that the former President is watching. “You might as well give up now. And to everyone else,” he adds, taming his features into a calm yet triumphant smirk, “you are dismissed. Thank you for attending.”

Tubbo blankly watches the crowd slowly disperse. Niki refuses to look in his direction, which he understands. Tommy had been an inspiration to everyone. He never gave up, always shared his opinions without fear. His death tore a hole in everyone’s heart. Tubbo feels empty. Tommy was his best friend, after all, and now that he was gone…it was like he was incomplete. His other half is now missing, forever gone from this world.

Schlatt pats him on the back, “Good job today, Tubbo. Get some rest.” He smiles. The sentiment would have been kind if not for the fact that he had just murdered one of the founding fathers of L’manberg. Tubbo can only muster enough energy to give him a shaky smile, relief filling his body as he disappears from the podium and goes back home.

It’s quiet and dark in there, a few things haphazardly strewn about with some papers for Schlatt scattered along. Tubbo doesn’t even bother to change out of the stuffy suit that everyone now wore, too exhausted to do anything but flop down into his bed. His mind drifts to Tommy again. The memories of all the fun times they’ve had make him smile, tears beading at the corner of his eyes, and soon he finds that he is sobbing. The salty liquid stings at the corner of his eyes, running down his cheeks and wetting his pillow. Guilt gnaws at the bottom of his stomach, his heart twisting in pain as he tries to accept the fact that he will have to live without his best friend. Out of all the people, why did it have to be Tommy?

_“I’m sorry.”_

—

“Hi Tommy,” Tubbo places a few poppies on the lush grass, next to the gently arranged daisies that someone—probably Wilbur—has left. Plopping down onto the hill with a sigh, he sits beside the grave, looking out across L’manberg. He tucks his knees close to his chest, relishing in the warm sunshine that shines onto the resting place that Schlatt had mercifully allowed, “Long day.”

He pauses for a moment, “George quit today.” Tommy, obviously, does not respond. Tubbo has long gotten used to the silence that now came with visiting his friend. It’s certainly a change from how it used to be—even in the most dire situations, Tommy had never been the quietest person—but he finds that he no longer minds the silence all that much. It’s peaceful to just sit here and tell Tommy about his day. A sharp contrast to the chaos of working under Schlatt. It seems that even George has gotten fed up—or maybe it was the fact that Schlatt was pushing to expand into the Dream SMP’s lands. It was unsurprising, as George’s loyalty had always laid with Dream and Sapnap first, and Manberg second. It had never really been his nation in the first place; he was just a foreigner that somehow got elected with Quackity and Schlatt. “I think Quackity is too scared to do the same.” 

Tubbo tugs at the tie around his neck, wincing. While the L’manberg outfit had been comfortable and easy to maneuver in, the suits that Schlatt had commissioned for everyone are stuffy and itchy. Far too formal for Tubbo’s taste. He doesn’t voice his complaints though, knowing that it would do nothing but make the president upset.

So he settles for pouring his heart out during his daily visits to Tommy’s hill. Eventually, someone plants a tree behind the grave. Tubbo isn’t quite sure who takes care of it, but as the days pass by it grows and grows until it is a luscious apple tree. It sits upon the hill proudly, acting as a sort of safe place to any passersby. No one, not even Schlatt, would dare to harm the grave. 

At least twice throughout the week, Tubbo sees someone visiting. Most times it’s Wilbur, sitting with his back against the smooth bark and eating the apples that drop to the ground. Sometimes he is accompanied by Techno, who naps in the warm sunlight. They never stay long, fearing of being spotted by Schlatt or one of his goons, but it’s often enough for Tubbo to notice. When it’s not Wilbur and Techno, it’s Eret. Tubbo knows because he always finds a bit of pink wool strewn about, a residue from the many pink sheep Eret houses in his castle. And sometimes, very rarely, Tubbo will see Dream. He always sits in the same spot, cross legged facing the grave with his sword placed to the right. It would seem strange to the others, considering Dream was L’manberg’s enemy during the start of their nation, but strangely enough he and Tommy hadn’t been on the worst terms. One would even have considered them friends, as the two could occasionally be seen wandering around together. Usually it was Dream following the L’manbergian around to make sure he didn’t start anything, but Tubbo had popped in enough to know that they often shared a friendly banter.

On a particularly bad day, Tubbo approaches. He’s surprised to see that Dream has his mask off. The plastic cover rests in his lap, his hood pulled back to reveal his dirty blond tresses. Dream acknowledges him with a slight incline of his head, the corner of his lips lifting in a welcoming smile. Tubbo takes this as a sign that he isn’t bothered by his arrival. Neither of them speak as he seats himself against the tree. As Tubbo tells his best friend about his day, Dream listens along. Both of them have yet to say a word to the other, so when Tubbo finishes his recount of the day’s events and they fall back into a brief silence Dream starts to hum. It’s an oddly soothing sound, Tubbo decides. So he stays and listens, even as the sun dips lower and lower into the sky. Eventually, when the sky is streaked with orange and the stars are beginning to show, he lets his eyelids drift shut.

Tubbo wakes up in the middle of the night. The moon shines a pale light onto the land below. Crickets chirp in his ears, the gentle light of a lantern making Tubbo squint as his eyes flutter open. Something heavy is resting on him. As he gains awareness he realizes that it’s a blanket. One of high quality as well, something that only someone as rich as Dream or Eret could give him. It’s not hard to realize what had occurred. So he gathers it into his arms with a sigh, stands, and sleepily makes his way home. He’ll return it in the morning.

—

Wilbur is dead.

Schlatt had eventually had enough of waiting, so when the former president was making one of his regular visits to Tommy’s grave, he had sent Fundy to follow him back. Even enchanted armor hadn’t been enough to save him from the violent and abrupt storming of Pogtopia. The betrayal of his son had been a blow to his heart, making the leader hesitate in his attacks when the fox had showed up with the rest of the invaders. Technoblade narrowly escapes the invasion with a slash across his chest and a few broken bones, which is more than what can be said for L’manberg’s founder. Schlatt declares the pink haired man dead after he flees into the forest, but days pass by and still no one finds the body. And so now Tubbo finds himself caring for two graves. They are side by side, as both Tommy and Wilbur would have wanted. 

Niki finds refuge in Eret’s castle, her hopes for rebellion shattered. Eret welcomes her with open arms. Tubbo doesn’t blame her for leaving, he would’ve done the same. No one talks about how Manberg’s trees are slowly becoming more and more scarce, or even how wildlife slowly retreats from the area. The vegetation loses its vibrancy with every tree that is chopped down for ‘expansion’ purposes, giving the nation a dull look. With every passing day Tubbo finds himself spending more and more time with Wilbur and Tommy, avoiding the place which he had previously called his home. Schlatt says nothing about it, too busy basking in his victory, so Tubbo doesn’t say anything either.

Niki visits the graves often. Most times she brings pastries, made with her own hands and hard work, so they share. Talking with her brings Tubbo some degree of enjoyment. She doesn’t talk about the rebellion or Manberg, so neither does Tubbo. He finds peace in their little meetups.

The weeks press on, and Manberg’s situation becomes more dire. One day, Tubbo settles himself down on the soft grass covering the hill. 

“Hi Tommy. Hi Wilbur,” he starts. He almost laughs at how different he sounds now. When Tommy was alive, Tubbo had been so energetic and loud. Now, his voice was always barely above a whisper. He clears his throat, and tries again, “Schlatt is trying to expand into Dream’s lands.” That’s better. “I think there’s gonna be a war.” He takes a moment to glance down upon his country, riddled with half constructed buildings and the stumps of felled trees. It makes him wince, shame filling his body. “I wish you were here right now,” he admits softly. A breeze blows through, making the leaves above him rustle. Tubbo sighs, “You always knew what to do.” 

Looking to the side makes him startle, his blue eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he realizes its Dream. Calming down slightly, he watches the masked man come up the trail with his hands in his pockets. His netherite sword glows, it’s enchanted status showing even when it’s stuffed into a leather scabbard at his side.

With him, he holds a bouquet of flowers. Tubbo recognizes a few of the plants. Some are poppies, while others are tulips, and mixed into the fray are a few vibrant orchids. He places it between the two stones, regarding the brunette with a nod of his head, and takes a seat on the other side, next to Wilbur’s grave.

“Hello Dream.” Tubbo greets him when he has settled into a comfortable sitting position. Dream echoes it back, his expression unreadable through the smiling mask. Tubbo sighs, “I sort of feel like you’re not here for Wilbur or Tommy this time.”

Dream chuckles, “Well, yes and no.” Tubbo waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t for a moment, and so a brief silence ensues. Only after a few moments does he speak again, “There’s a war coming.” 

Tubbo glances away, “I know.”

The masked man’s voice is grim. Something in Tubbo stirs, telling him that he likely won’t enjoy what he hears next. “I want you to be on my side, Tubbo. I know you hold no loyalty to Schlatt.”

He wonders what Wilbur would’ve told him to do then. Tommy always said to follow his heart, but at the moment Tubbo doesn’t really know what his heart wants. He’s silent, knowing that Dream is watching him for his reaction. It’s true—the part about his loyalty—but Tubbo has never been able to bring himself to quit. Fear of Schlatt killing him or imprisoning him kept him away from even coming close to doing so.

As if sensing his worries, the older man seeks to offer some semblance of reassurance, “We’ll protect you. You can go live with Niki in Eret’s castle, and when everything is over we can provide you the resources to build your own house.” He pauses, his head craning to glance down at the graves, “Wilbur and Tommy would’ve wanted you safe. It’s the least I can do for them.”

He’s right. Tubbo knows this, and he knows that if he took Schlatt’s side it would bring him nothing but pain. The president would force him to fight. Tubbo has never liked fighting, but he has always done so to protect his family. Now, though, he would be fighting for people who are like strangers to him now. Fundy’s loyalty was proven when he outed Wilbur to Schlatt, and Ponk has never liked being on the losing side. So he nods slowly, knowing that Tommy wouldn’t want him to risk his life for a country that is no longer his. 

“Okay.”

—

The war is quick. Barely even a war, if he were to be honest. Schlatt forces Dream’s hand as he invades. Despite the warnings, he presses for Manbergian buildings to be constructed upon the lands. Manberg doesn’t stand a chance against the Dream Team and their supporters. Their netherite armor deflects any blow made, and their sharp swords pierce through even diamond. Schlatt dies a brutal, slow death with a swift stab through the chest by Dream. Quackity flees, and the rest surrender to the Dream SMP. Manberg is no more.

The days blur together. Tubbo busies himself building another bunker, this one even more extravagant than the one he had previously made under L’manberg. It’s filled with memories of the past, little snippets of time from when Tommy and Wilbur were alive and he was happy. Pictures of everyone together; Wilbur, Tommy, Niki, Fundy, and Jack are pinned to the walls with care. Dream helps, when he has the time. They work in silence, the only words exchanged being brief questions about what Tubbo wants to go where. Eret gives him all the resources he needs and insists that he doesn’t need to be paid back. So the brunette takes them gratefully, and slowly the new bunker comes together. It’s nice—far nicer than he had ever built—but still he feels like there’s something missing. 

Somedays, he ventures out. Manberg’s vegetation slowly grows back as nature takes back what belonged to it in the first place. Eventually, when the bunker is complete enough to live in comfortably, Tubbo moves his things from Eret’s castle into there. It makes it a little more lively, he decides, but the final touch is when Niki brings a guitar— _Wilbur’s guitar_ —to him. 

“I thought you’d want this,” she says softly, standing in the doorway of the nearly completed bunker. Tubbo stares at it, the memories of all the times Wilbur has ever sang for them flashing through his mind. The blonde holds it out to him, “Sapnap found it when he was going through Manberg’s buildings.” 

“I’ll-” his voice is scratchy. He rarely talks to anyone anymore. Tubbo grimaces, “I’ll thank him later.” Niki smiles at that. She steps forward, about to place it into his hands when he stops her. They hadn’t spent time together in a while, as Tubbo had distracted himself with his project. He steps to the side a bit, widening the door so that she could come in, “Do you want to um...do you want to play? I know Wilbur taught you a few of his songs—” her eyes widen at that, “—but you don’t have to if you don’t want to!” He adds on hastily, “I get that it hurts. It’s just…”

She shakes her head, her soft smile brightening, “I’d love to play for you, Tubbo.” He finds the energy to grin back.

  
So he lets her in. The grief from everything—the election, their deaths, the fall of everything they had built—is let out as Niki sings. Tubbo smiles, and laughs with her when she messes up a chord or two. Soon enough she gets used to it again, and this time Tubbo is sure Wilbur and Tommy are watching because he feels the warmth in his chest. Faintly, he can feel tears dripping down his cheeks. Niki offers him an understanding smile—she’s crying too, he realizes—and even as her voice cracks and trembles, they laugh. For the first time in so, so long, Tubbo feels genuine happiness.

After that, Niki visits more often. Sometimes she drags one of her new friends along. Hbomb is cool and he’s funny, so they often sit around Tubbo’s table talking and laughing. Occasionally, Dream visits to ask after Tubbo’s wellbeing and they have lunch together. They never say much, only the occasional quip or inquiry disrupting the companionable silence between them, but Tubbo doesn’t mind. Dream becomes a sort of older brother to him—the one that Tubbo never had—and he likes it that way.

The hole from Wilbur and Tommy’s deaths never fully heals. Their missing presence is something he thinks about every day. But he fills it with new things. Dream gives him a beehive with few bees on his birthday, which is ironic because he had been the one to kill the first ones. Tubbo accepts them gratefully, and finds comfort in raising them. Five bees turn to ten, and then twenty, and soon he has a whole colony of them.  
  
One day, he realizes that it’s been nearly a year and a half since the fall of Manberg. It’s surreal, he thinks, the time has flown by quickly. The Dream SMP has stayed almost the same. Niki has another bakery, this one is far less hidden than the other one, and so he pops in from time to time. Sometimes she’ll sing to him as he watches her work. Other times, he’ll help her with her baking. She becomes his best friend, the two brought together through their shared experiences. He still visits the graves every day, making sure to stay for at least an hour or two before leaving. He’s sure that they wouldn’t be upset, the two founders had always told Tubbo that there was no reason to dwell on the past. 

It’s not the best life without Tommy and Wilbur, but he makes do. 

He still has nightmares. Most times he wakes up sweating, gasping for air only to realize he’s alone in his bunker. The dark bags under his eyes from Schlatt’s reign never fully fade. Sleep becomes something he enjoys less and less. Midnight walks become a regular for him as the nightmares continue. The cool air is refreshing, the sound of crickets in his ears calming. Eventually, on a walk two years after the death of his best friend, Tubbo runs into Tommy. 

“What the hell are you doing out so late Tubbo?” Tommy demands. He’s wearing the L’manberg outfit, the hat on his head standing proud. Tubbo blinks once, half convinced that it was some sort of hallucination. Was he having a nightmare within a nightmare? He scowls. What a sick joke. Tommy takes a step forward, his eyebrows lowering in concern, “Tubbo?”

Tubbo looks down at himself, surprised to see that he too is wearing the L’manberg outfit. He had buried it deep in his closet long ago, but now it looks clean and cared for. Freshly worn, in a way. The brunette glances around. Everything looks the same, but then again the Dream SMP never changed too much. 

“When’s the election, Tommy?” He asks curiously. Tommy stares at him weirdly, like he had grown three heads. 

“It’s in two days.” He answers easily, shaking his head in disappointment, “You should know this, Tubbo!”

“Sorry,” he mumbles absentmindedly, glancing around. He can find his bunker from here. If what he was thinking had really happened, then it shouldn’t be there. Tommy tags along, grumbling about how Tubbo’s gone batshit crazy, and sure enough when he gets to the entrance it isn’t there. Dirt and stone stand in place of where the door should have been.

Tubbo has traveled back in time.

He doesn’t question it all too much. Magic is real, after all, or enchanted weapons wouldn’t exist. So Tubbo heads home—to his L’manberg home—with Tommy. It takes all his willpower not to tackle his friend into a tight hug and cry about how much he missed him. Instead, he tries to calm his violently rushing heart. This is a second chance, Tubbo tells himself, can’t screw up this time. So he returns to the first bunker. Tommy leaves him to it with another inquiry to his health, but soon enough he retreats to his own home. 

Tubbo doesn’t sleep. Instead, he makes potions. It’s a grueling process, but he’s always been the best brewer out of everyone in L’manberg. He doesn’t feel the exhaustion seep into his body, too focused on preparing for the upcoming election. Tommy’s voice felt so foreign to him now. It had been so long that he had heard the energetic roughness of the blond’s voice. It was only now that Tubbo realized just how much he really missed Tommy. And Wilbur too, he realizes that Wilbur is also alive now. 

Sleep becomes an afterthought as Tubbo puts in ingredient after ingredient. He makes strength potions, swiftness potions, and even invisibility potions. They’d need everything possible for the election. Tomorrow, he’d spend his day gathering items for the two. The desire to protect his family spurs him on. 

He’d sooner die before he allowed the other timeline to repeat itself.


	2. doing this for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people say that the past cannot be changed, and that we should just accept what happens and move on.
> 
> Dream grins. Not in this case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO IM SORRY THIS IS SUPER RUSHED I REALLY WANNA WRITE ABOUT THE NEW STREAMS TODAY 
> 
> THANK YOU KARI FOR BETA READING ILYSM MWAH

Dream has never been a selfish person.

Everything he does is for his friends. Fighting, killing, harming others—it’s all for them. It’s in this way that he and Tubbo are similar. Dream sees himself in the younger boy. He knows how it feels to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. He knows how it feels to have to fight against your friends. So he does his best not to hurt him, or even hurt Tommy and Wilbur. L’manberg’s fight for independence is as bloodless and short as Dream can make it, and in the end he gets away with two discs and they are their own nation. Everyone is, relatively, satisfied.

Eventually they start bringing even more people. Niki is a soft-spoken person with a heart of fire. Jack Manifold is a smart kid with an affinity for swordfighting. Quackity joins the picture soon after them, and then Karl does too. They live peacefully together—aside from the occasional war or two, but with Tommy as a vice president it was generally expected. The main point is that they coexist.

Until Wilbur decides to hold an election. 

It all goes downhill from there.

Tommy and Wilbur escape the newly named Manberg within an inch of their lives, wounded, heartbroken, and alone. Dream remembers seeing the look on their faces as Schlatt’s lips twisted into a sinister smile, announcing their exile gleefully. He remembers the way Punz had twisted, crossbow in hand, to shoot at the two. And even with the supplies that Dream had smuggled to the newly formed Pogtopia, Tommy could stay away for no longer than a week before he’s caught trying to steal an ender chest by Tubbo and Ponk. The following execution is a glorified murder.

Dream had barely been able to watch as the platform was dropped and the rope was pulled taut. George had glanced at him just before pulling the lever, hands hesitantly tugging the wood. Even from his place on the hill, Dream had felt the uneasiness within the older’s gaze. Tommy dying at all had been hard to imagine. He remembers spending some days going along with whatever mission the younger blond had set himself up to, whether it was building a giant tower to attract “tourists” or creating a new religion. He hadn’t thought about it then, but he had realized later that those moments were rare. Those had been times of peace, where even despite their quarrels they had been able to get along. 

Tommy’s death signals the beginning of an era of darkness, war, and bloodshed.

Dream remembers seeing Tubbo up on the hill every day following the funeral. It was a heartbreaking sight, seeing the young boy talking to the unresponsive stone. The blond visits too, out of respect for the L’manbergian who he had called a friend. It’s peaceful, talking to Tommy some days. Occasionally, when he’s lucky, Tommy will respond. That’s not very often though. Dream has a feeling that the younger blond is a bit pissed, and he can’t blame him. 

He doesn’t know how long it is before someone plants the tree. He remembers seeing the white tip of a fox tail peeking over the top of the stone, remembers the black hat that bobs, bowed over the loose dirt with the sapling placed carefully to the side. When it is fully grown, it makes the hill seem surreal, like it was taken straight out of a fantasy novel. Apples litter the floor, dropped from the lush branches.

Meetings with L’manberg—he refuses to call it Manberg. This irritates Schlatt to no end, but the ram simply corrects him with a slightly strained smile—become a constant. Dream hates it, he hates the constant meetings. His time could be used doing productive things instead of arguing with the ambitious leader. His patience grows thinner and thinner as the president insists on expansion into his lands, even as Dream continues to refuse.

The last straw is when Wilbur dies. 

Wilbur had never been a strong fighter. He was the charming negotiator of the group, this much was obvious to everyone. Even with Technoblade’s assistance, they don’t stand a chance against Schlatt’s invasion. Dream knows this, but he still does nothing more to help. He had given them armor and weapons already, Sapnap had told him, that was the most he could do to avoid breaking the treaty.

So why does he feel guilty?

Wilbur’s funeral is as grim as Tommy’s, maybe even worse. Dream doesn’t know exactly when he starts visiting the two graves every week as opposed to his unplanned, spontaneous pop-ins every month or so, but he does. Most times he goes in hopes of finding Tubbo there. He hoped—with every cell in his body—he hoped that Tubbo would not take the easy way out. The few times they’ve spoken since Tommy’s death, Dream has seen the dark bags under the younger’s blue eyes and the dull, lifeless look within them. The spark of life had been lost, and worry had nestled deep into the pit of his stomach.

“Tommy, Wilbur.” he greets easily, settling down on the soft grass. The sun is perched high in the sky, warming the lands below with its light. Dream places his mask on the ground gently, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly as the cool breeze washes over his freckled skin. A moment later, he cracks an eyelid open, “Schlatt’s meetings are becoming progressively more unbearable.” 

There’s a pause, a heavy silence filling the air Dream distantly wonders what Sapnap was up to. Probably tormenting more animals, he decides with a sigh. His friend is an arsonist and a pet murderer, and although he loved him to death even Dream was willing to admit that the ravenette was a pain in the ass to deal with sometimes.

He looks out across L’manberg, seeing the ruins of what used to be walls and half completed buildings scattered throughout. In the far distance, two specks are moving about. One turn towards him, a head of brown hair that he easily distinguishes as Tubbo, so Dream gives a halfhearted wave. Tubbo waves back, although it is small and hesitant. The larger figure, who he figures is Schlatt by the well tailored business suit and ram horns curling around his head, turns to see what has captured the Secretary of State’s attention. Lowering his hand slowly, Dream holds the ram’s piercing red gaze. Schlatt looks away first, shaking his head and beckoning for his subordinate to follow. Tubbo shoots one last glance at him before following.

Dream turns back towards the two polished stones, twirling a strand of grass between his fingers. “I don’t think there’s a way to avoid a war,” he admits quietly, “it’s not going to be pretty. People will die.”

The leaves on the tree rustle, as if discontent. Dream knows that they are listening—both of them are here—and it brings a little comfort to him. He absentmindedly wonders if Tubbo has ever felt their presence, or even knows that they are watching. It wouldn’t be surprising, he muses to himself, they held a strong emotional bond. He doubted that the younger would be able to read most of what they try to convey, though, even if they were close. The wind picks up, swirling around the hill. 

Dream holds his hands up, “Alright, calm down.” The wind increases, ruffling through his hair and blowing stray leaves into his face. Dream rolls his eyes at their dramatics. “I’ll get him out of L’manberg soon. He’ll live with Eret and Niki for the time being.” He promises earnestly, wincing when the tree drops an apple on his head. Dream hisses, picking up the red fruit. He tosses it at the tree, watching it bounce off and roll to a stop, “Even in the afterlife, you’re such a bitch.” There’s no response, but Dream is certain that the former president is laughing his ass off. Wherever he is.

The wind calms, the three falling into another silence. Dream stands after another moment, brushing grass off his ass and straightening his hoodie. He picks up his mask, attaching it with a sigh. A tree branch waves, as if Tommy and Wilbur are waving farewell for the time being.

Dream takes a few steps forward, turning back after a short moment. He takes a deep breath, raising a hand to give a halfhearted wave.

“I’ll protect him for you, you can count on that.”

—

Dream feels the blood splatter his mask, spraying onto his armor. Schlatt hisses, making a halfhearted swipe with his dagger. The blond makes no attempt to dodge, barely even wincing as it tears through the fabric of his hoodie and slices open the skin of his arm. Blood trickles down the pale skin, but this is ignored as Dream snaps his opponent’s wrist. The weapon falls to the dirty ground with a muffled thud. Schlatt screams in pain.

“Sorry it had to end this way, Schlatt.” He says simply, ripping his sword out from the ram’s chest. He collapses to the ground, blood pouring from the wound and shallow breaths leaving his smirking lips. Dream can’t help the disgust that curls his stomach at the sight.

“I’m satisfied with what I’ve done.” Schlatt rasps, grinning. Dream looks down at the fallen man, aware of his friends’ gazes, watching the scene carefully. He observes as the sticky blood on his sword drips onto the ground, staining the grass red. Schlatt takes a few raspy breaths, his eyes drooping.

The blond bows his head, raising his sword again. The Manbergian president stares straight at the blade with no fear, red eyes glinting with a sick sort of triumph, even as he faces death. Dream narrows his eyes, voice filled with resentment. 

“This is for Tubbo.” 

The sword slices down. A metallic smell of blood fills Dream’s nose, splattering even more crimson liquid onto his armor and clothes. A few moments later, George comes forward, placing a hesitant hand on his taller friend’s shoulder. Dream removes his sword, unfazed by the sickening squelch it makes when it is roughly pulled away. He turns away from the lifeless body without a care.

Sapnap calls out hesitantly, “You good?”

He tosses his sword on the ground, not answering. Someone will pick it up later. Dream stalks forward, walking past his friends, past all the bodies and dead horses. Away from the battlefield. He pulls off his chestplate, dried blood sticking to his fingers.

He almost winces at the emotionless tone his voice holds, the flatness of it making Sapnap pause in his approach.

“He ruined my hoodie.”

—

Dream huffs with effort, lugging a large rock to the side. He tosses it outside, watching it land heavily on the ground and roll a few steps before settling. Tubbo peeks his head out, checking to make sure everything is okay before retreating back into the half-finished bunker. He hears Tubbo’s deep inhale before a slightly smaller rock rolls it’s way out of the bunker.

“How are you so strong?” The brunette complains, brushing his hands together to get rid of the dirt, “You never even work out.”  
  
Dream chooses not to comment, simply settling for a throaty chuckle that makes the younger scowl at him. He figures that Tubbo wouldn’t believe him even if he told him the truth. Ducking into the small cave they’ve created, the musty stench of dirt and dust fills his nose. He squints through the shadows. It’s dark inside, just barely lit by the few torches they’ve placed around. Dream sighs. _We have a lot of work on our hands._

The former L’manbergian’s voice rings through the air again, “How long do you reckon it’ll take?” He asks, his voice bouncing off the walls. Dream shrugs.

“Probably a few months,” he answers, twisting around when his sharp hearing picks up the sound of footsteps. Eret peeks his head around the corner, lugging a chest full of supplies in his arms. “Hey.”  
  
“Yo.” Eret greets back. He sets the chest on the ground outside with a grunt. Tubbo watches with polite interest. “I brought some wood and stuff. I don’t know exactly what you need, so just tell me what you want isn’t here.”

Tubbo nods, offering the taller brunette a strained smile. He mumbles a thank you, one so quiet that Eret’s gaze darts towards Dream questioningly. _Is he okay?_ His eyes seem to ask. Dream shrugs, shaking his head after a moment and making a gesture for the other to leave. Eret does so with an understanding nod, calling out a short goodbye before disappearing from sight. Dream sighs.

He doesn’t know how long he spends in there with Tubbo, building the bunker and ferrying supplies to and from chests. Some days he doesn’t arrive, having to spend time elsewhere. Tubbo insists he doesn’t mind, but despite this Dream still feels a little guilty for leaving the boy to work in the bunker alone. The days spent outside of the bunker focus on cleaning up what was left of L’manberg. Taking down the half-finished buildings proves to be a tedious task, but the rewards are enough. An undamaged flag one day, Wilbur’s guitar the next, and soon Dream has a chest full of lost things from times before the election. He makes a mental note to give them to Tubbo later.

“Are you still having nightmares?” He asks one day, settled on the comfortable chair in Tubbo’s kitchen. The brunette pauses midway through pouring freshly boiled water into the cup. Dream glances down at his smiling mask, placed carefully on the wooden table, when silence ensues.

After a moment, the younger clears his throat. “Um.” he starts, pausing as if he was trying to decide what to say and what not to say. Dream frowns. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” He raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the bags under his friend’s eyes, only slightly faded since he had left Schlatt. Tubbo shrugs halfheartedly, glancing away as he placed Dream’s cup of tea in front of him. The blond makes no move to touch it, waiting patiently for the brunette to speak.

Tubbo retreats back to the counter, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. His voice is quiet, something that Dream didn’t ever think Tubbo was capable of until after Tommy’s death. “It’s—everyone tells me to move on, y’know? And I-I can’t. It’s just...I...I miss them, Dream.”

The blond hums quietly in acknowledgement, sadness burrowing deep into his gut. He knows it’s not his fault for what happened, so why does he feel guilty? It was unreasonable, and yet he still feels this way. If only there is a way that he can help Tubbo, help the kid that’s become a sort of younger brother to him. 

_Well,_ his mind whispers, _there is._

Dream sighs, leaning back in his chair. _No,_ he shakes his head to himself, _that’s too risky._ There’s no guarantee that things would be better, in fact the chances are that they’d end up worse than now. He attempts to push the thought out of his head, to no avail. _Tubbo’s a smart kid,_ his brain insists, _he can do it. You’ll be there to help too. Don’t underestimate him._

He grapples with himself for another moment before mentally groaning. “Tubbo,” he starts. The brunette looks over his shoulder, a questioning ‘huh?’ escaping him as he makes his own cup of tea. Dream mutters a curse to himself, mentally berating his brain for making him go through with this. The risks are high. If they didn’t get this right, they probably wouldn’t get another shot. It would take years before he would be able to pull something like this again. Tubbo glances at him questioningly, making the older shake his head and continue, “if you could go back to before the election, would you?”

There’s no hesitation in the brunette’s voice when he answers. “Yes.” He says immediately. “I’d save them. They’re my family.”

Dream smiles. Looks like he’s making a trip to an EndCity tomorrow.

—

The witch hisses at him, blood leaking from a cut on her cheek. Dream raises an unimpressed eyebrow, holding the Chorus fruit up with a gloved hand. In the other he holds a netherite sword to her neck. “You know what I want, don’t you? I know you can do it.”

She reaches into her pocket. Dream tuts in disapproval, the sword blade pressing harshly against her neck. “None of that. All I want is for you to do one thing, then I’ll let you live. You should be happy,” He smirks cynically from behind his mask, “I don’t give many of your kind this opportunity. I’ll even let you use my own power for this. That’s a good deal, isn’t it? Won’t cost you a thing.” 

The witch glares at him, her purple gaze sharp with disdain and unadulterated loathing. Dream tosses the Chorus fruit up and down boredly, boots squelching against the soft swamp floor. “I don’t have all day.” Dream says impatiently. He’s starting to get a little annoyed waiting. “Make a decision.” She grumbles irritably, making the blond roll his eyes. He presses the sword further, blood beading at the tip as he threatens to slice through soft skin. “C’mon, what’s it gonna be?”

The witch, much to his satisfaction, nods.

—

Dream doesn’t have much trouble slipping the potion into Tubbo’s drink a few days later. He insists on making drinks this time. Despite the weird look Tubbo gives him in return, he allows him to. A part of him feels slightly bad for tricking the younger boy like this, but it’s calmed by the reminder that this whole thing was for the greater good. 

He takes a deep breath, taking the small bottle filled with swirling purple liquid out of his pocket. Emerald green flecks swirl within its depths, a stark reminder of just whose power had been used to create it. Dream pours the entire thing into Tubbo’s tea, making sure to mix it around so that there is no trace of it. The only thing hinting to any undesirable tampering were the occasional dots of green that would surface, fortunately sinking back into the liquid seconds later. Tubbo, sitting at the table, hums absentmindedly and taps his fingers on the wood.

Dream sets the drink down in front of him a moment later. He gives a halfhearted smile at the brunette, receiving one back coupled with a polite ‘thanks.’ The blond watches as Tubbo lifts the drink to his lips, holding his breath in anticipation. 

He drinks the tea. The brunette is blissfully unaware of anything, much to Dream’s satisfaction. The green clad man returns back to the counter, picking up his own untainted drink. Mentally, he bids farewell to this timeline. Hopefully the next will be better.

Dream listens to the way his boots thud on the dirt, distantly wondering how long it’ll take until he’s up to full strength again. Last time he’d done anything time travel related, it had been to save George and Sapnap. That had been so long ago, long before he met Tommy or Wilbur. _Even now,_ he thinks as he flexes his fingers, _the missing strength is noticeable._ _I’ll have to be careful from now on._ No more risky stunts like jumping off the top of the Holy Land’s tower. He chuckles to himself at the distant memory.

Tommy and Wilbur greet him with a warm breeze. Dream smiles at the two stones, not bothering to sit down. He doesn’t plan on staying long, but he figured he’d let the two know before the whole time travel shit went into effect. The tree’s leaves shudder and rustle in curiosity.

“Hey,” He greets, “I’ve got news.” A branch lowers, as if it’s leaning forward to hear in anticipation for what he has to say. Dream grins, “If everything goes good, Tubbo should be happy.” He pauses, adding on shortly, “And you guys too, for that matter.” 

He can practically picture Wilbur raising a questioning eyebrow at his cryptic explanations. Dream chuckles quietly to himself, debating whether to explain more. He chooses not to—it’s not like it’d matter anyway—so with a short wave he turns to leave. Tommy and Wilbur, obviously dissatisfied with his lack of elaboration, complain in the form of an apple launched at his head. 

Dream tosses it back. “Fuck you.”

—

He wakes up two days before the election. Dream yawns, stretching and wincing as his bones crack. If the witch did her job, everything should be set to two years prior. A quick glance at his calendar tells him that it had worked. He slides out of bed, tugging his mask and hoodie on in the process. George watches him leave with raised eyebrows, but makes no move to stop him as he shuts the door.

Dream hums, looking around the lands. There are a few noticeable changes, one being that Tubbo’s bunker is completely gone. So is Niki’s bakery. Good signs, he decides. The hill is also back to normal, the apple tree erased from existence and the two stones missing from their places. More good signs that everything has gone according to plan.

The L’manbergians are still asleep. Good for him. He slips through the entrance, escaping the notice of a dozing Fundy, and makes his way towards Tubbo’s bunker. The entrance is as hidden as he remembers it being, covered with carefully placed leaves and twigs. Dream pulls it up with a slight huff, grinning at the familiar voice that shouts ‘Who is it?’ 

His boots thud on the pink wood as he makes his way down. Tubbo peers around the corner, eyes widening at the sight of the masked man approaching. That’s definitely his Tubbo. The dark bags and messy hair make it fairly obvious. The brunette frowns, looking Dream up and down even as Dream spots the flash of recognition in his blue eyes. “What do you want?”  
  
He clearly doesn’t think that Dream knew about the whole time travel ordeal. Dream wonders if he should tell Tubbo. Probably not, he decides after a moment of inner debate, Tubbo would question him and the blond was not ready to reveal his secrets to him, even if he did see Tubbo as a younger brother.

So, instead he holds a hand out. Tubbo eyes it warily, making Dream grin behind his mask. Maybe this wouldn’t be too hard after all.

  
“I want to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DREAM IS NOT HUMAN IN THIS IF THAT IS NOT COMPLETELY CLEAR. HE IS A DREAMON. WE LOVE DREAMON AU.

**Author's Note:**

> blame my friend for asking me to write this
> 
> comment pls i stayed up till 2 am writing this :(


End file.
